My Heart Has More Rooms Than A Whorehouse
by SilkenBone922
Summary: Nate Archibald- Nate/Blair, Nate/Serena, Nate/Jenny, Nate/Vanessa, Nate/Georgina. Nate sells his soul on empty wishes and breaks his heart in the cold.


**my heart has more rooms than a whore house**

**gossip girl**, nate archibald (nate/blair, nate/serena, nate/jenny, nate/georgina, nate/vanessa), 1000 words, rating r (for language), unbeta'd- all mistakes are my own.

notes: I blame viennawaits and our many conversations about that archibald boy for this fic, title is courtesy of gabriel garcia marquez

_the fault dear brutus is not in our stars but in ourselves that we are underlings_

-**shakespeare**, julius caesar

**after the playgrounds**

They were always about the winters.

He first kissed her by the pond, ducks as their witness and her dark hair veiled in snowflakes. He wishes he'd been more romantic, less sloppy. Wishes his mouth had pressed more firmly against the slope of her lips. Wishes he hadn't pulled away so quickly.

Nate sells his soul on empty wishes and breaks his heart in the cold. He wishes he could look at Blair- look at _them_.

And not be so convinced that it's all his fault.

----

**the bar is closed for business**

Serena's supposed to taste like sunshine, as bright as her hair. She's supposed to be clear, shiny and he's supposed to fall in love with her.

She tastes like wine instead, from the unopened bottle and she kisses too hard, grips too fast and the sex is messy. He almost falls off the bar stool when he realizes she's finished fucking him and she's crying now. Picking up her clothes and wiping tears on the bare skin of her arm, her hair tangled over her shoulders.

He stares at her with a sort of detachment, unable to connect the knots in her hair, the lipstick smeared across her mouth and the torn bodice of her dress with _his_ hands, _his_ lips.

Sex with Serena is a dirty haze but it's still sex, he supposes so he pines. Pines away the summer, the year and he can't look Blair in the eye because he had sex with _Serena_, for chrissake.

So he lights up a joint and sits in the corner with Chuck, wondering what the hell he did wrong.

---

**down the rabbit hole**

They don't trade in promises, just moments.

A kiss on her doorstep, a smile by his car and she laughs a lot. He likes watching her mouth curve when he says something funny because this is it, right? This is him, making someone else happy and he thinks he's drunk on the sound of her voice.

His mouth moves against hers, soft, undemanding. He can taste the anticipation on her skin when he touches her and feels an unfamiliar rush of thrill when he realizes it's her first time. He takes all the gentleness and tender caresses that he'd squandered before and tries to make it special, tries to make it count.

Vanessa brushes it off the next morning with a grin. "Let's not make too much of this," she whispers over breakfast, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

He can tell she's trying not to cage him, trying to make sure he doesn't feel obligated to stick around. It's completely extraordinary and yeah- he's captivated.

_Let's not make too much of this._

He'll swallow that with his whiskey all summer in vain attempts to wash away the guilt.

---

**this is not the last**

He isn't one for intent.

It would be nice, he expects to be able to claim that he planned this. That he moved in with the Humphrey's for the express purpose of seducing their young (too young) daughter.

Not that he wants to be accused of such sordid predispositions but it would be nice, he thinks to make something happen, for once.

Things keep _happening_ to him. Jenny Humphrey happens to him.

She's a surprise too- he's expecting Blair. He's expecting coyness, temper tantrums - he's expecting Blair Waldorf.

She's more like Vanessa than he expects, she kisses him first. She doesn't ask- she _takes_ and she doesn't wait or hesitate- she's a storm of meetings and couture and he feels left behind in her wake. He stands- stands and watches Dan, Jenny, Vanessa make lives right before him and he can't be one of them. He can't be one of them but he isn't who he was earlier either.

He kisses Jenny for the crowds, kisses her and she kisses back. She steals shows right before him and she never calls back.

He loses words between the pen and the paper and puts her firmly behind him.

---

**parting hearts don't need words**

Georgina doesn't say much. She's of the silent variety, all purrs and moans and her mouths already too harsh for her years. Her kisses are made of lipstick and cocaine and he bites into them like Eve's apple because she's hot enough between the sheets for him to bury his vague hatred of her and her blood is blue enough for the Vanderbilts.

Columbia is a mistake. New York is a mistake and G is just the cherry on his sundae of regrets. He presses deep inside her and refuses to let memories of Vienna and Vanessa plague him.

"Really, darling," she murmurs, "You're far too young to be this worried."

He tugs harder on her arm, teeth sinking into the skin of her shoulder.

"Not that I'm complaining, of course," she gasps, lips falling against his chest.

He pushes away and never returns.

---

**you never meant anything**

He tries. Tries to be less of what he is- tries to be more.

He fails at it all. He's a mess, really, just better put together than the rest of them. Nate tries, really. Maybe it makes sense for him to fail.

---

**doorsteps at nighttimes**

His knuckles slide against the wood as he knocks. He rolls back his heels as he waits- oddly nervous, hesitant.

There is a girl behind the door. A girl who smiles when she lets him in, tips her head to one side and says-

"What took you so long?"

Nate can be truthful for once. He has no fucking idea.


End file.
